The Perdition Score. Richard Kadrey

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СКАЧАТЬ detective agency is on Sunset Boulevard in Silver Lake. I push the button on the front door and get buzzed in.

      The office is up a flight of stairs. She’s fixed it up a bit over the last couple of months. Built herself an office with a door at one end of the space. I tap the glass gently and she gives me a quick wave. Candy’s desk is in the large open space so she can greet potential customers when she isn’t working her own cases. Small-time stuff mostly, but she’s only been at it for a few weeks. Julie fired my ass after just one case. A case I solved, I’d like to point out.

      One more indication of what a great employee I am.

      Candy in her Chihiro drag doesn’t look like her old too-large-leather-jacket-and-jeans self. She’s dressed in a short, tight black dress with skeleton bones printed on the front and back. Her stockings say BITCH on them about a thousand times and her bag is a bloodshot vinyl eyeball. Her only concession to her old look is that she still wears Chuck Taylor sneakers.

      Candy is at her desk laughing with a redhead I haven’t seen before. Each of them has a Styrofoam tray full of noodles. Candy puts down her chopsticks and comes over to me. Gives me a big kiss and takes me by the arm to her friend.

      “Stark, I want you to meet—”

      “Alessa,” I say.

      Alessa, the redhead, opens her eyes a little wider.

      “Alessa Graves. How did you know?”

      I shrug.

      “It’s just this funny trick I can do.”

      “See?” says Candy. “Didn’t I tell you he knew cool stuff?”

      Alessa nods.

      “Cool doesn’t cover it,” she says.

      “Fairuza introduced us. Alessa plays guitar. Like real guitar,” Candy says.

      “Nice to meet you, Alessa,” I say, holding out my hand like a gentleman or a Realtor. She takes it and we shake briefly.

      Alessa looks to be in her late twenties. She’s pretty. Her red hair falls just below her shoulders. She wears a lot of kohl around her eyes, probably trying to hide the lines at their edges, lines she’s too young for. My money says she had drug problems in the past. Meth, I’d guess. Fucked up her skin some, but the addiction wasn’t so bad she lost teeth. I can tell by her smell that she’s clean now. Her heartbeat kicks up a little when our hands touch, but it’s not that she’s all excited to meet me. She’s here to see Candy and talk music. They’re just getting to know each other and suddenly the boyfriend walks in and crashes their guitar geeking. That’s easy enough to fix.

      “You should hear Alessa play sometime,” Candy says. “She’s awesome. Her old band toured with Skull Valley Sheep Kill. That’s Stark’s favorite band,” she says, leaning confidentially in Alessa’s direction. She smiles.

      “What’s your favorite album of theirs?” she says.

      “Plan Nine from Fresno. What’s yours?”

      “That’s a good one. I like Cannibal Holiday.”

      “That’s a good one too.”

      “Hey, maybe you saw her open one of Skull Valley’s shows,” Candy says. She turns to Alessa. “When did you tour together?”

      “It was just before we recorded our album. About eighteen months ago.”

      I shake my head.

      “Sorry. I wouldn’t have seen you. Eighteen months ago …” A quick flash of pain in my head. I picture the arena for a second. “I was out of town.”

      “Well, if you’re interested we have some live stuff on YouTube.”

      “What should I search for?”

      “‘Django’s Coffin.’”

      I’m starting to warm up to her. “Is Django your favorite western?”

      She shrugs.

      “My old girlfriend loved it. I like it, but I like The Furies more.”

      “Barbara Stanwyck. When she takes away Rip’s derringer and points it at him.”

      “It’s a good way to end an argument.”

      “I’ve ended a few that way myself.”

      “You should show me sometime.”

      “Sure. You, me, and Chihiro can go by the L.A. Gun Club.”

      She makes a fist and holds it out. I make one too and we bump.

      “Alessa plays surf guitar. She totally kicks Dick Dale’s ass,” says Candy. She holds up an LP that’s a bit battered at the edges. “Look what she gave me.”

      The cover is greenish, with a man holding a guitar case on a long stairway. A pagoda in the background. Printed on the front is RASHOMON. TAKESHI TERAUCHI AND THE BLUE JEANS.

      “Early-seventies Japanese surf rock. She knows all about it.”

      I get it now.

      “And you bought her noodles to join your band.”

      Candy picks up some chopsticks.

      “She brought a record, so I brought noodles.”

      “That sounds fair.”

      Alessa says, “It’s not quite that simple. Chihiro played me a recording of her band rehearsing. They’re not bad. They need work, but they’re not bad.”

      Chihiro. Good. Candy’s staying safe, using her new identity even while she’s trying to lure a professional guitarist into the clutches of her garage band. Maybe Alessa’s drug problem was worse than I thought. For a pro to want to work with Candy’s group, she must have burned some bridges with the local L.A. players.

      I look at Candy.

      “That’s great. You’ll be playing with Skull Valley soon yourself.”

      “Wouldn’t that be great?”

      Alessa picks up her chopsticks and pokes at her noodles.

      “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she says. “We need to learn some actual songs first.”

      Candy sits back down at her desk.

      “Yes. Songs first. Then touring. See? She’s a total professional.”

      I nod.

      “Sounds like it,” I say. Alessa continues poking at her noodles. Even I can take a hint. She’s done with me being there. Candy looks at her. She’s done with me too for the moment.

      “Listen, I have to talk to Julie, so I’ll let СКАЧАТЬ